


Bitter smiles

by sansaswildlinglover



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Don't Like Don't Read, F/M, I mean line A LOT more appropriate :'), Just another teaser fic, POV Daenerys, References to Ramsay, Scars, but it's still more appropriate to tag this Jonsa rather than Daensa and/or Jonerys, it's mostly Sansa and Dany interacting, the Jonsa relationship is really minor in this, with a hint of attraction from Dany's side if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 20:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17372666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansaswildlinglover/pseuds/sansaswildlinglover
Summary: Was she imagining how tense his answering smile was, or the way his hand flexed by his side? Why did the spark that had started churning in her belly calm down when he introduced the other woman as his sister, Sansa Stark, only to return with a vengeance when she noticed the tender way he pronounced her name and how he couldn't take his eyes off her?





	Bitter smiles

"Winterfell is yours," the Lady of Winterfell said, a pleasant smile on her face and her eyes respectfully cast down. "Your Grace," she added after a pause, glancing up to meet her eyes. Dany could find no fault in her demeanour, yet the smile she had to force left a bitter taste in her mouth.

It had stung, when she'd turned to Jon, expecting him to help her off her horse, and Ser Jorah had needed to step in, and once she'd dismounted she had not only found Jon already across the courtyard, but in the arms of another woman.

She'd clasped and unclasped her hands in front of her and forced herself to walk over slowly and with her head held high, like the Queen she was, Jorah by her side. None of the other people in the courtyard seemed to acknowledge her presence, and it almost made her falter.

She kept her eyes on Jon and smiled as she approached him, ignoring the tall, beautiful redhead next to him.

Was she imagining how tense his answering smile was, or the way his hand flexed by his side? Why did the spark that had started churning in her belly calm down when he introduced the other woman as his sister, Sansa Stark, only to return with a vengeance when she noticed the tender way he pronounced her name and how he couldn't take his eyes off her?

"Let me show you to your chambers, Your Grace," Lady Stark offered, holding out a hand to direct her.

She glanced back at Jon, expecting him to follow them. 

"I need to speak to a couple of people, Your Grace," he clarified.

She took a step in his direction. "I should be there if you're going to speak to your bannermen."

His face hardened, but then he offered her that soft smile she'd come to love, and again, she wondered whether she was imagining things. "Trust me," he told her. "It might be better if I prepare them first, but now I'd like to see my brother, and my other sister."

She blinked and pursed her lips. "Of course." He hadn't seen his other siblings in years. Part of her would have liked to share the joy of their reunion, but she suspected Jon might refuse her if she offered to join him, so she didn't ask.

He was still oddly reserved about certain personal matters, and though it frustrated her, it should have come as no surprise to her. He had always been sparse with his words, and as she'd learned, even with his affections.

She turned back to Sansa Stark, who was patiently waiting for her, hands neatly folded and her back straight, that same empty smile still plastered on her face. By the time she said goodbye to Jon's sister, she had decided she disliked the girl, though she couldn't quite explain why.

The chambers she'd been given were warm and comfortable, but as dark and dull as the rest of Winterfell. The way Jon had spoken of it, she'd expected it to be a bright and wondrous place, but what she'd seen of it so far had been somewhat of a disappointment.

The entire North had seemed like an endless landscape of whites and greys and blacks, with only the occasional fir or other evergreen to break the monochrome of it all. Though it was her largest kingdom, seeing so much of it had failed to excite her.

 _It belongs to the Iron Throne, to me,_ she convinced herself. It was only Jon's talk of the stern Northern people and the prospects of war that were discomfiting her, making her feel unwelcome even. This was  _her_ kingdom, these were her people, once they'd come to know and love her, she'd find it easier to love them back.

This dark, quiet room was making her restless. There was no reason for her to stay cooped up inside here. She was an honoured guest, not a prisoner, she had every right to explore the keep and the rest of the castle.

Once outside, she noticed how cold and dark it had already grown, and decided to go and find Jon's chambers to wait for him there. The maid she asked for directions was curt with her, barely paying her the proper courtesies.

"His Grace is in the Godswood and wishes not to be disturbed, my lady," she informed her.

Dany's nostrils flared. Jon had been right that the Northerners were stubborn people. " _Your Grace,"_ she corrected the girl. "Now, where are the Lord's chambers?"

The maid frowned. "The Lord's chambers?"

Didn't these people speak the Common Tongue? She glared impatiently at the girl, who rather reluctantly told her where to find them.

"Tell  _Lord Snow_ I'll be waiting for him there," she commanded the maid, fearing she had no intention of doing so.

She took a wrong turn once or twice, but eventually she found the right door and reached for the handle. When she opened the door, she found herself face to face with an enormous white wolf that was blocking her path.

The beast stood taller than her, his eyes a ghastly red and his fangs bared. To her chagrin she flinched, but she didn't cower. She was the mother of dragons, she wouldn't let an overgrown dog scare her.

"Ghost, to me!" a female voice called. 

The wolf melted back into the shadows and Dany moved into the direction of the voice she'd heard.

A pale face with large blue eyes appeared as she approached the dim light of the fire. A large bathtub was taking up most of the floor that wasn't covered by the bed, and a naked Sansa Stark was sat in the steaming water it held, knees pulled up to her chest.

Her wide eyes narrowed into a confused frown, but then that hateful smile returned. "Your Grace," she greeted her. "I would kneel, but..." she let her words trail off and gestured at the inside of the tub. "Please forgive Ghost's bad manners."

Daenerys glanced at the wolf that was now lying next to the tub, his huge head resting on his front paws.

"You should learn to control your beast," she chided the other woman, pursing her lips.

"Ghost is not mine," she said, her eyes growing soft for a moment. "He's Jon's. He was just trying to protect me."

Dany eyed the wolf warily, irritation kneading her belly.

"Please take a seat, Your Grace." Sansa pointed at the settee at the foot of the bed.

"Was there anything you wished to discuss?" she asked when Dany sat down.

"Discuss?" she repeated, annoyed by how stupid it was making her sound. She'd seem even sillier if she told Sansa she'd been looking for her brother. Shouldn't that be clear anyway? She was in his bedroom, the right question was what Lady Stark was doing here.

"I wasn't expecting to find you here," she muttered, trying to take control of the conversation, trying not to stare at the other woman's long, shapely legs and the way the fire reflected off the soft pile of copper hair on the crown of her head. She crossed her own legs.

Sansa arched an eyebrow and slowly looked around the room. "Last time I checked, these were still my chambers, so it doesn't strike me as odd you'd find me here. Is something amiss with your room, Your Grace?"

"No," she said, holding up a hand. "My room is... _satisfactory_. Forgive me, but I was told these are the lord's chambers."

"They are," she confirmed, and then a shadow flickered over her face, but it was gone before Dany could determine what it was. "You were expecting to find Jon here."

She folded her hands and braced them on her knee. "Obviously."

"I see." Her voice was as cold as the rest of the North.

She rose to her feet, all of her previous modesty forgotten. Daenerys couldn't help but stare. She was a beautiful woman, with soft curves, long limbs and perky tits, but what made her unable to look away were the myriads of lines marking her porcelain skin.

Red, silvery and white scars covered her belly, hips and thighs. There was a bitemark on the underside of her right breast. Evidently she caught her staring. 

"My second husband gave me those," she explained, cold and detached. "He made me bleed every night for as long as we were married. I think you can imagine the other things he did to me."

Dany swallowed. "I'm sorry."

Sansa huffed. "I have more," she continued, turning around to reveal the scars on her back. There was another bitemark on her left arse cheek. "The fainter ones are courtesy of my first betrothed, King Joffrey."

She stepped out of the tub and reached for the drying cloth on the chair next to the fire, wrapping herself in it, before she turned to face Daenerys. Again, she became painfully aware that the other woman easily towered over her.

"He punished me for every victory my brother Robb, the last King in the North, won," she clarified. "I don't think he ever touched me himself, only when he threatened to rape me. He left the beatings to his Kingsguard."

Part of Dany was speechless, part of her was annoyed at Lady Stark casually calling these pretenders kings. She wasn't quite sure how to respond, or even why Sansa was sharing this with her. 

"I am sorry," she repeated. "I..."

"I don't need your pity," she interrupted. "I just need to know if you understand."

"I do," she said, rising to her feet. "I have also suffered at the hands of cruel men. I've been sold like a broodmare, and raped. I understand."

Sansa stared at her, her eyebrows knitting together for a moment, but then her eyes turned to ice and her face to stone. "I am sorry for your suffering," she said, and there was only sincerity in her voice. "But you misunderstood what I was saying."

She tilted her chin up, squaring her shoulders to make herself even taller, and behind her the wolf had lifted his head.

"The North remembers," she said, her voice trembling, and yet somehow sounding stronger because of it. "And I can't forget. I've bled for my home and my family. There's nothing I wouldn't do for them. You'd do well to remember that."

Dany understood this time. This was a language she was familiar with. It was a threat. "And you'd do well to remember that I'm here to save the North, and that my dragons could destroy your home in the blink of an eye, if I were inclined to command them so."

"Which one is it?" she scoffed, showing no sign of being impressed by that truth. "Are you here to save us, or to destroy us?"

The fire was hot inside her belly. "I'm here to defend what is mine, from any possible threat!" she forced out through gritted teeth.

"So am I," Sansa said calmly. "I'm glad we finally understand each other."

Dany opened her mouth, and the wolf leapt up. Fear clutched her heart like an iron fist, but the beast ignored her and bounded for the door.

"Who's there, Ghost?" Sansa asked, walking away from Dany, watching as the wolf scratched at the door.

"Come in," she called out.

The door swung open and Jon stepped in, closing it behind him. He couldn't see her this far back in the shadows, and she doubted he would have noticed her anyway. His eyes were glued to his sister, travelling up and down her body, lingering too long before settling on her face. It was hard to discern the expression on his own face.

She was still only wearing that drying cloth, it must have been the scars he was looking at, Dany told herself, until she remembered most of them were covered.

"Sansa," he whispered, and if it had been hard to read his face, his voice left little to the imagination. There was longing and sadness in it, and whatever that meant, it made Dany queasy.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I wasn't aware you were indisposed."

"It's alright," she answered. "I got distracted."

Dany was tempted to move closer. Sansa didn't sound anything like the woman who'd just addressed her now she was talking to Jon. Her voice sounded like a sweet caress.

"Distracted?" he asked.

"We have an unexpected visitor," she clarified, leading him into the room, toward where Daenerys was still standing at the foot of the bed.

He froze when he saw her. He quickly tried to hide it by approaching her with a smile just as false as Sansa's on his face, but she had noticed. Her stomach churned. How hadn't she seen that before?

"What are you doing here, My Queen?" he asked, and he hardly managed to hide the accusation in his question.

"I was under the impression these were your chambers," she sniffed.

"Ah," he said simply. "I'm sorry, Dany, I still need to discuss some matters with my sister tonight."

"Some matters?" She felt her own voice trembling with anger. Was he truly dismissing her?

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "As you know, Sansa has been ruling the North in my absence," he said, as if that was enough of an explanation, as if she didn't know that, which might not be unfair, since he'd never really told her that. 

"I'm truly sorry for being such a horrible host to you, but I promise we shall talk in the morning."

He _was_ dismissing her.  _Don't be so sure I'll still be here in the morning if you continue like this, Jon Snow! Don't wake the dragon!_

"Then we shall talk in the morning," she answered, holding her head high.

He responded with a curt nod, already half-turned to Sansa again.

She wouldn't force her company where it wasn't wanted, so she strode for the door, resisting the urge to turn around and shower them with her righteous anger. She was already outside when she decided to look back. 

They were facing each other, Sansa in her flimsy cloth, and him still in that ever-present smelly fur cloak. The soft light painted their flushed faces a shade so lovely it was painful to look at.

She was clasping one of his hands and he was staring at her as if he was lost and she was the only thing keeping him afloat.

"Has he told you?" she whispered.

He nodded, and Daenerys thought her eyes must be betraying her, as it looked as if he was crying, the sobs he was trying to hold back making his body shake and tremble. His shoulders sagged, and he practically fell into Sansa's embrace. 

Daenerys understood then that Jon Snow had never truly been hers. Silently she closed the door and ran, seeing red through the tears she was trying to blink back. 

 

 


End file.
